


A Touch Like Fire

by mischiefgoddesscomplex



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), winterwidow - Fandom
Genre: Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Tension, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 20:32:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4406501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischiefgoddesscomplex/pseuds/mischiefgoddesscomplex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha Romanoff and Bucky Barnes find themselves alone again after a mission, holed up in a run-down and sweltering hot hotel room in Sao Paulo. No words are needed. They both know what comes next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Touch Like Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Squirrel_Stone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squirrel_Stone/gifts).



> I was prompted by the lovely [Squirrel_Stone](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Squirrel_Stone) to write some BuckyNat (or WinterWidow). I got a taste for their dynamic after reading _The Name of the Rose_ , so I hope this does the pair justice. I've never written these two together before, and I feel like I ship them a little more so after writing this. 
> 
> Anyway, I'd really appreciate any comments on this, as it's my first time writing the ship! Feedback and kudos are so loved and appreciated. (Also: Russian translations will be provided in the end-notes!)

They always did work well together.

Natasha finds herself forgetting that until the time comes when they do. Which is few and far between, these days. It’s not often it takes two of them to complete a mission. As SHIELD’s best assassins, one per mission will usually suffice, unless it’s a more imperative assignment. 

And in this case — on this blistering hot day under the setting August sun of Sao Paulo — it is. 

Natasha blows a sticky strand of hair out of her eyes from where she crouches on the rooftop, hiding behind a ventilation system. She prefers to keep her hair short, especially during the summer, and that decision is really saving her ass right now as the sun beats down on her. She’ll have to remember to schedule another appointment soon though, maybe next week, if she’s not —

The sound of a door banging open snaps her attention back to the mission like a rubber band. She shifts her mindset so quickly and easily now, like it’s second nature to go from thinking about the length of her hair to the men she’s supposed to be killing. 

Two glocks in both hands, locked and loaded. Her fingers grasp around them, and she takes a deep breath of comforting familiarity. She doesn’t need to peek around from her hiding spot to know where her targets are. The sound of their footsteps alone provide plenty of information: the next rooftop over, running parallel to where she’s crouched. 

She springs up, all poised balance and deadly grace, firing in an instant across the rooftop. The sound echoes loud in her ears, a sound far too familiar by now, and she watches as she hits her targets precisely. All three of the men drop like flies in their black suits, and before she can feel the sweeping feeling of accomplishment, her heart skips like a needle on a record. 

Four. There should have been four men — 

_BLAM._

The whizz of a bullet brushes over the top of her shoulder, puncturing the steel metal of the ventilation shaft behind her. She’s firing back in an instant, her guns aimed at the rooftop across from her. No time to panic. Panic and you’re dead. 

When more bullets whizz past her, she knows she has to run. Otherwise she's good as dead. She’s flying across the rooftops, her feet pushing the sticky hot rooftop back and behind her as she leaps from one to the next, rolling and ducking. And her assailant — the fourth man — has still not let up. 

She pauses to duck behind a concrete wall, reloading one of her glocks and snapping it back at eye level, firing at her unseen target. The sweat stings in her eyes, blinking as she pauses only for a second to get her bearings. 

That’s when the sound of a familiar sniper rifle rings out through the concrete jungle, and Natasha watches as her assailant falls from his hiding place one building over. He topples off the roof with a sickening smack below, and Natasha huffs out a breath. 

She catches a flash of silver from a few buildings away. About damn time, James Buchanan Barnes. 

They don’t say a word to each other upon reconvening that night, their mission complete, the sun setting over the cityscape. She finds him already in their headquarters when she returns from the rooftops. 

They call it a headquarters, but it’s hardly anything much - a ramshackle hotel room, a box-spring mattress, and a single shower. No air conditioner. It helps their low profile on high profile missions such as this if they fly under the radar. 

The sun is slanting through the wooden, semi-boarded up window, casting a dark orange glow on the room. Bucky stands by the view, still in his black uniform, towering over the city below them. His metal arm is propped up above his head, and he leans against it, not making a sound as she walks inside. 

Natasha sits on the bed and contacts SHIELD, briefing them on the mission, letting them know it was a success. But already her mind is elsewhere. It’s been so long since they’ve seen each other…since they’ve had a mission together: even longer. Her eyes linger on his backside as SHIELD informs her that their pickup will arrive in three hours. Her mind is wondering about old habits, and if they ever really die. And if she’d even want them to. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” She finally says to him a few minutes later, breaking the silence between them after she’s done radioing SHIELD. It’s not an uncomfortable silence — rather, a contemplative one. One that she’s familiar with after missions. 

He glances at her, those deep and brooding eyes piercing her where they’ve been caught in a slant of sunlight. The rest of his body is still shrouded in darkness. She stands up off the bed, feeling the way the sweat sticks to her suit, and with one finger and her thumb she begins tugging the zipper down. He’s still watching, his gaze unwavering as the zipper slides down over the curve of her breasts, down to her navel. 

“Don’t use all the hot water,” He says, his voice deep and rough despite the light comment. 

She saunters towards the bathroom, peeling the suit off her shoulders, not looking back to see if he’s watching. “You can always join me,” She throws out, her tone light and somehow still heady with implication. 

He doesn’t. 

The water isn’t very hot at all to begin with, but Natasha feels it rinsing the dirt and sweat off her body, watches it swirl down and mix with the water as it flows into the drain. And it’s enough for her. She wraps herself in a singular cotton towel, shaking the droplets of water out of her short and curly hair. 

Bucky’s halfway changed out of his black uniform when she steps back out. She finds him in a sleeveless, white, cotton-ribbed undershirt — sticking to his chest from the heat — and those black pants. He sits on their mattress, elbows on his knees, his lips pursed against clasped fingers as though still in contemplation.

It’s so damn hot in the room that Natasha feels her skin begin to heat up again already. But Bucky — Bucky’s still covered in sweat, glistening with a nice sheen of it that highlights the muscles on his human arm and glowing from the golden sun. 

He looks up at her, and there’s this look in his eyes that she knows so well. Even after all this time apart. One that mirrors the look in her own eyes, she’s sure. They know each other inside out — understand each other more than anyone else has been able to — and Natasha knows this is not the first time, and it will not be the last. It’s been months, but neither of them needs to use words to understand what comes next. 

She steps forward until she’s standing in front of him, above him, right between his knees. She drops her towel with no preamble, letting it pool at her feet, and his dark eyes lock onto hers. Any other man would’ve looked elsewhere on her body immediately. But there’s something so erotic about the way he holds her gaze in that moment that causes a heat to start burning in her core. 

“Touch me,” She orders, her command soft yet demanding. 

His metal hand comes alive on her body, steadily, as if he needs to be told twice. She flinches slightly at the heat of the metal, but then relaxes into it as he trails his fingers down her right side, against the underside of her breast, and then further down her stomach. All while holding her eyes with his own. It’s a sensation she’s well familiar with by now.

She places her hands on his shoulders, tipping her head back and closing her eyes as he repeats the motion from top to bottom. Slowly. Intricately. She feels her nipples begin to harden under his warm and teasing touch, and he gently rubs his thumb over her right nipple. A tantalizingly slow circle around the peak with a flick that sparks something behind her navel. 

After a few minutes, his other hand presses urgently against the small of her back, suddenly drawing her into his lap with a mumbled, “C’mere.” 

“A little rough there Barnes, don’t you think?” She chides throatily, sliding into his lap with ease all the same. Her knees fall to bracket him at both sides, and she presses her chest flush against his cotton shirt as she arches against him. She feels his hardness trapped underneath her and grins.

“Isn’t that how you like it, _lisichka?_ ” He fires back, raising an eyebrow as he looks at her with desire. He’s brought their faces closer together now, their noses touching as they breathe hotly against each other. 

And, well, he’s not wrong. Against the wall, bent over desks, clawing at his back…the pace fast and punishing, skin slapping skin, their bodies bent and twisted in pleasure. The memories of the ways she’s been had by him in the past fill her core with heat. Their usual escapades are nothing short of rough and fast and wild and demanding. But Natasha wants to take her time with this one. They have a lot to catch up on. 

She leans in, licking the sweat off his upper lip in a lingering swipe of her tongue. He still tastes the way she remembers — sweet and salty, just on the right side of an attractive musk. And then she’s pushing open those lips of his — those dirty, sinful, pouting lips of his. Swirling her tongue once around in his mouth and letting him taste himself.

When she pulls back with a wet pop, he’s got this intoxicated fucking look on his face — like she’s the sun and the moon and all the goddamn stars in the galaxy. She both hates and loves that look. And then he buries his head in her neck, kissing the soft skin there with a heavy tongue, and she winds a hand around to grasp the hair at the back of his neck and lets him. 

“Mark me…” Natasha rasps, voice barely above a whisper. His mouth travels further down her neck, sucking and kissing, leaving small red welts along the way. Sucking lightly on them afterwards, swirling with his tongue. She shudders at the feeling. 

His lips are inching closer and closer to the swell of her breasts, and she leans back a little, arching herself against him, presenting herself. She catches that flash of interest in his eyes as he looks up at her from under his dark lashes for a split second. He knows exactly what she wants.

She mewls lightly when he latches onto one of her nipples, just on the right side of rough, grazing it with his teeth. He then swirls his tongue around the hard peak, kissing it softly before moving to her other breast and repeating the pattern. Rough and gentle. Rough and gentle. Just how she likes it. 

When he raises his metal hand to squeeze and caress the unattended breast, she bucks her hips against him. Just one little gyration against the straining bulge in his pants. Poor boy. She feels him breathe harshly against the goose-prickled flesh of her breast, but it’s the soft little _oh_ sound he makes when she does it again that really turns her on. 

Bucky pulls back from her just a little, just enough to yank the shirt off of his body. When he’s flung it aside, Natasha grasps onto his face and kisses him again hard on the mouth. She presses her breasts firmly against the taught planes of his chest, and the delicious slide of skin on sweaty skin that accompanies it causes her to ache between her legs. His body feels so good. Too good. Like she remembers it. 

“Will you fuck me like this?” She whispers between kisses, rocking her hips and pressing into him, just a little, just to show what she wants. How much she wants it. Her Russian accent slips out when she gets wound up like this, but only with Bucky. Only ever with him. “Will you fuck up into me? Let me ride you? I’ll make it so good for you, _Yasha_ …”

“You always do, _devotshka_ ,” He laughs humorlessly at her nickname for him, the sound coming out as a low and breathless rumble in his chest. When she rolls her body against his — a full-body grind that starts at the base of her spine, pressing against his hips, and ends with her breasts rubbing against his chest — his laughter dies out with a soft breath. She does it again and again and again, enjoying the way her breasts bounce and slide against his slick chest, and they both are left panting as his grip on the small of her back tightens. 

Natasha is wet and dripping down her thighs, and it’s with a lustful gaze into her lover’s eyes that she dips two fingers down into her slick flesh, coating them with her arousal. She brings them to her lips, licking them slowly as Bucky watches with heavy lids. She closes her eyes when she sucks on her middle finger, and she hears his groan in response. 

Natasha opens her eyes and leans into kiss him again, a wet and lingering butting of their tongues that ends with her whispering, “Taste how ready I am for you.” 

“Fuck, _Natalia_ ,” He curses quietly, moaning into her mouth when he surges up to kiss her again. 

After a few more minutes, kissing is not enough. They get to a point where it never is, even though this time it’s lasted longer than normal. And by now they’re both sweating again, the heat of the room causing them to perspire against one another as the sun dips over the horizon and washes the room in a dark blue light. What a picture they must make like this: the two spies, alone at last, falling into the same dance they’re so familiar with no matter how long it’s been. 

She undoes the zipper on his pants, guiding out his erection with a soft hand until it finally springs free. It bobs against his stomach, flushed and heavy, dripping pre-come at the slit, and they both moan at the sight of it. 

“I’m going to fuck you now,” She whispers hotly against his earlobe, grazing the soft skin with her teeth. It doesn’t need saying, but she loves talking dirty to him anyway, winding him up. It works. 

He shudders underneath her at her words, and she can’t believe they haven’t just fucked each other into the mattress by this point. All these months of waiting, and they’ve both shown extreme resolve until now. But they both know that the harder the waiting, the sweeter the reward. 

“ _Da, Natalia, da…_ ” Bucky moans in Russian, his face buried into her neck. “ _Da…pozhaluysta_.” 

Natasha rubs herself against his thick shaft, slowly coating him in her slickness. Up and down, up and down. Slowly. Excruciatingly. She poises herself at his tip a few times, teasingly sinking down and drawing herself back out before repeating the process. The sweet slide and friction makes them both pant as she murmurs against his ear, “Thought you didn’t beg, James Buchanan Barnes.”

“Only for you, Tasha,” He breathes, his voice sounding wrecked, “Only for you.” 

“ _Mmm_ ,” She purrs against his skin and sinks down onto him, taking him all the way to the base in one easy slide. They both groan loudly and _oh_ , he feels just as deliriously and deliciously big as she remembers. 

Natasha rocks her hips minutely against his, keeping him sheathed inside of her, relishing in the way he fills her up. God, she missed this. Needed this. “How does it feel for you?” She whispers, rolling her hips up ever so slightly. 

“You’re always so tight for me, _Natalia_. And _warm_ …” Bucky replies with a choked-off groan, burying his face in her neck, “And if you don’t stop moving your hips like that, this will all be over in the next two seconds.” 

“…Only because you covered my ass today,” She concedes and grins against the side of his face, stopping her ministrations and kissing his neck. After a minute of adjustment, Bucky nods his head, and she lifts herself up off his dick, all the way to the tip, before pushing back down and taking him again. 

She starts the rhythm slowly - gyrating up his dick and lingering there before every thrust back down. She places both hands on his chest to steady herself, using her thighs to do most of the work. And Bucky’s got a grip like a vice on her hips all the meanwhile, all his tension channeled into his fingertips. He’ll leave bruises, most likely. She smiles weakly at the thought. 

When she begins to swivel her hips on the way down, that’s when she sees his jaw go slack and his eyes glaze over under those heavy lids of his. She’ll rock up against him, rubbing her breasts on him, before sinking back down with a little twist of her hips. 

Neither of them are particularly vocal once they start getting into it. The room is filled with the sound of pants and groans and whimpers, the sound of the mattress creaking and straining under their weight. The sound of skin slapping skin as Natasha picks up her pace. 

That liquid heat is pooling low in her stomach, the impending orgasm making itself known. She could fuck herself off his dick for hours if she wanted to — she probably has, now that she’s thinking about it. But they don’t have much time tonight, and she knows this has to count. 

Bucky’s been so good until now, mesmerized by her as his gaze alternates from the pout of her lips…to the bounce of her breasts…to the place where his dick disappears inside of her, swallowed up by her tight heat. But she can see him straining, the muscles in his lower abs clenching every time she does a little special twist with her hips. He is strung out with the need to _fuck_.

She pulls off his dick, and with a low and throaty voice commands, “Lie back farther.” 

Bucky does as she says without question, their unspoken understanding established long before this meeting. She crawls back up and straddles his waist again, only this time, she places her hands behind her on the bedding, near his thighs. She leans back like an acrobat as she tilts her hips and sinks onto him at this new angle.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Bucky whispers in awe, placing one hand against the curve of her back and the other on the bed to steady them. She gyrates her hips down onto him again, but she needs more.

Natasha throws her head back and moans, “Fuck up into me, _Yasha_ …please.”

“Thought you didn’t beg, _lisichka._ ” He mimics her earlier words, a smile on his lips. But it’s gone as soon as she swivels her hips right back down onto his rock hard and weeping cock, and he watches the point where it disappears inside her. Feels it consumed by her impossibly wet heat. 

And that’s when Bucky’s resolve crumbles, because then he’s snapping his hips up into Natasha and it feels _so. damn. good._ This new angle allows her to take him impossibly deeper, and when he hits her g-spot, it’s like she sees a burst of stars behind her eyes. 

He begins to jack-hammer his hips up off the bed at a punishing pace, slamming into her, his cock dragging against her inner-walls just right. He’s drilling right up into her. _Fucking her_. It rips a scream of pleasure raw from her throat. 

Only he gets her like this. Makes her cry out loud. Makes her _beg_. He’s moaning these deeply masculine sounds, and she knows he feels the same. They’re pushing each other towards the edge at a maddening rate now, and Natasha feels herself get fully and completely lost in him. 

“Harder, _Yasha_ …yes, _yes!_ ” She cries, bending back further and offering her hips in a tilt towards him. The metal hand at her back tightens its grip at her words; Bucky’s hips faltering in their rhythm at her desperate noises. “Fill me up, so good, so good, so good…mmm, _da, James._ ”

“Let go for me, _devotshka,_ ” Bucky pants, continuing to pound into her, knowing he won’t last very long now himself. His eyes are locked onto her face with lust and love and admiration, watching her expression twist in pleasure every time he slides in just right, “You’re so fucking beautiful, Natasha. Let go for me…I, oh — _yebat, da_ — I want it all.”

Natasha loses it at his curse, crying out as she feels the warm wave of pleasure rise up from her core and crash through her body. She can’t stay bent backwards like this, and he knows it — so his hand on her back pushes her back upright and into his chest, clutching her like a vice as she leans down onto him. 

She’s panting harshly against his neck, her body trembling as her orgasm continues to milk his cock, and when she whispers raggedly, “ _Kónčitʹ nýne_ ,” against his skin, he comes like a rocket, a deep moan echoing out from the back of his throat as he spills hotly inside of her. 

Natasha loves that sound. Has it committed to memory. Replays it often when she's alone in bed at night. She kisses his neck when she hears it again now, her orgasm ending in tiny tremors as his begins.

They’re perfect like this. Natalia Romanova and James Buchanan Barnes. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been or where they are — in a run down hotel in Sao Paulo in the sweltering summer heat, in the leather backseat of a car in Mumbai, in a lighthouse off the coast of Ireland in the dead of winter — each mission they’ve had together has been etched into her memory. But they will always find each other like this in the end. 

They always did work well together.

**Author's Note:**

> I am by no means fluent in Russian, and had to look these up. If there are any inaccuracies please let me know! :)
> 
>  _lisichka_ = red-headed woman, little fox  
>  _devotshka_ = beloved, beautiful woman  
>  _da pozhaluysta_ = yes, please  
>  _yebat, da_ = fuck yes  
>  _kónčitʹ nýne_ = come now


End file.
